


I Met a Traveller from an Antique Land

by Seselt



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/M, Romance, Star-crossed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-23 05:26:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2535800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seselt/pseuds/Seselt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is fluff resulting from too much late night gaming. I started wondering about all the nameless people being swept up in the war between the Legion and the New California Republic. And I have the secret shameful urge to write romantic fiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. From the Dust

June 2278

The crack-bang of a bullet saved him. Caius, in defiance of all training, looked up when he heard the noise. Up to the sky not scanning the terrain as though he expected the noise to be Jupiter's lightning instead of small arms fire. He cursed himself again for a fool and dragged himself up the side of the ravine towards the shot.

Shots. Another two at a steady interval. Nine millimetre, he guessed. Unlikely to be scoped. He still kept low to minimise the target he presented. The sand was as hot as Avernus and acid cruel against the scorpion stings on his arms. Caius raised a hand to wipe the sweat off his face instinctively. 

But he was not sweating any more.

Panic gnawed at him as he surveyed the desert for the source of the gunfire. He was dying in increments alone in this gods forsaken dust-bowl. Another shot. Not alone. And not dying, Caius told himself grimly, forcing down the gibbering voice in his head as he caught a hint of muzzle flash. Where there were weapons, there were people. And where there were people, there was salvation.

“Mars guide me.” The legionary prayed as he scrambled down the lee to the cover of a large rock. There was a bare sandstone ridge oblique to the ravine he had been following. It twisted in aeolian curves hiding much of itself from his view. But the gunman kept firing in an even cadence. Caius picked another point of cover and ran to it before hunkering down to listen again.

Only one weapon with no returning fire. That did not reassure him as much as it would have before his patrol had been attacked by that damned abomination. There was a plethora of things in the Mojave drooling ready to kill.

He staggered to another rock outcrop and cursed when he stepped in entrails. In the shade of the undercut stone there was a lizard. It had been shot in the stomach and in its death-throes had disembowelled itself. The creatures travelled in packs preying on unwary travellers. His decanus had spoken of different kinds, including ones that could breathe fire. This dead one showed no signs of ignition. Just a gaping hole in its torso.

This time, Caius caught a voice in the echo of the gun shot. He listened keenly hoping one of his comrades had also survived. Sound bounced oddly amongst the gullies but he was close enough to pick out individual words.

“Tell that its sculptor well those passions read, you fuckers!” A woman spoke. Caius grimaced in disappointment. She yelled. Or chanted. She seemed to be reciting something. That suggested some education had been wasted on this degenerate.

BANG! 

He jumped at the noise. A different gun, much higher calibre. Someone else? The legionary was confident he could overpower or if necessary reason with a lone person. If he was outnumbered, his tactics would rapidly devolve to bleeding on their boots.

“Which yet survive, ow, son of a bitch.” The cursing interrupted the next line or else the poet was unorthodox in their use of language. Caius crept forward under scrub cover, skirting around a twitching lizard. It posed no threat to him. Someone had blown its head off. The body trembled as life left it, reminding him bitterly of Lucas thrashing after the deathclaw had decapitated him.

There were more lizards, perhaps ten of varying sizes, at the mouth of a narrow gully. It was a good defensive position barricaded by the carcass of a brahmin and defended by a broad leather hat. That was all Caius could see of the woman. She kept well down, firing through the gap between pack animal's heads.

BANG! A bullet ricocheted as the .45 calibre revolver jumped in her hand. He got a good view of the weapon and guessed the cause of the profanities. The gun was too powerful for her and her aim suffered for it. She took four shots to dispatch the last lizard, two of them clean misses taking chips off the buff coloured stone.

Six shots. Caius had counted very carefully. If she had switched to the revolver because the semi-automatic was dry, she would now have to reload. It was as good a time as any to announce himself. He swallowed on an arid mouth.

“Hello?” It was a croak, which was fortunate as he nearly began with a civilised salutation of 'ave'. “I come in truce.”

“If you're a fucking ghoul, you're a dead man!” The woman shouted back. Possibly she was half-deaf from her own gunfire in the confines of the gully. Possibly she simply had no manners like the rest of her ilk.

“I am no ghoul.” Caius showed a hand around his rock, revealing his position to test her intentions and her arsenal. When she did not shoot, he moved fully into her view. The brimmed hat remained where it was for a moment then raised itself over the brahmin so its owner could stare at him.

“You sound like one and you look like shit.” Her tone moderated as she studied him with frank surprise. All he could see of her was sunglasses between hat and the faded bandanna covering her face. “How long have you been out here?”

“Days.” He was not sure himself how long he had marched alone. Caius licked his cracked lips, refusing to lean against the rock to keep himself upright. The adrenalin of prospective rescue was fading and now demanding its due. He stood out of pride as his legs began to shake. He swallowed on nothing, trying to make himself heard above a rasp.

“Damn.” She said eloquently, climbing over the brahmin to help him into her camp. Caius let himself be dragged past the barricade then sat down on a wooden crate as his knees gave. The woman opened a bottle of water, helping him drink it before busying herself with a satchel of medical supplies.

He had leisure to inspect the camp as she pulled off her gloves to wash his face and dab salve on his mouth. Satchels and boxes reinforced the defences, and a canvas awning stretched between the rock walls gave blesséd shade against the fierce sun. In that shade, a man lay on a bedroll, stripped to his underclothes.

“Him?” Caius nodded towards the insensate form.

“Don't talk. You'll split your lips worse than they already are.” She finished with the salve and grabbed his wrist, turning his arm over to make a face at the oozing puncture marks. “God damned mess. Hold on.” She went back to the satchel and returned with a clay pot, the contents of which she made him drink. Caius submitted to the dosing because of the familiar smell of the anti-venom. It had the same foul taste as well.

He accepted another bottle of water and swallowed it in measured sips. His stomach wanted to revolt against the liquid but he refused to waste the largesse. The woman cleaned his arms with alcohol then dressed the stings with new bandages not rags. Caius looked at the neat work but his mind was made of fog. She helped him onto a bedroll next to the man. His last conscious thought for quite a while was 'soft hands'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem Ann is quoting is 'Ozymandias' by Percy Bysshe Shelley.


	2. Tea for Two

The air was cool when he woke. His face was damp. Caius touched his nose and met wet cloth, pulling it away so he could feel the night breeze. It was then he realised how sunburnt he was. He had worn a helmet and dust scarf for so long he had lost his tan, and paid for it now. His skin felt like old leather poorly oiled.

“You'll peel badly but I think you'll miss out on blisters. They're such fun.” The woman in the hat sat by a metal box with a grill; a camping stove he recognised. The only other one he had seen had been loot discarded as wasteful bulk when a camp fire would do. Two pots rested on the limited cooking space. She stirred them alternately.

“Are you a healer?” Caius asked, mopping his face. His arms itched. He was happy about that. The sick numbness that had palsied his limbs had gone. The stings hurt when the dressings rubbed against them but he could bear that far, far more easily than the prospect of being maimed.

“Nope, just the chica who rolls the bandages.” She answered lightly, ladling liquid out of one of the pots into a mug and handing it to him. “Nuka tea. Best thing for heatstroke. Drink that and keep drinking until you have to pee. Then I can give you something to eat.”

Caius sipped the warm liquid. It was sweet with a background herbal bitterness. It went down easily and she gave him another before taking a mug to the unconscious man. She knelt, propping him up against her so she could use both hands to get the tea into him. He could still swallow though his mouth was lax. Most of the fluid ran down his chin despite her efforts. The legionary had seen many dying men. He was certain he was looking at another one now. 

“Why are you here?” Caius rasped, trying to clear his throat without coughing. He did not trust his stomach yet not to rebel. He had been dehydrated before. It was a common risk on long marches. The febrile cramps and disorientation would pass within a few hours, if he were patient. She settled the man before replying.

“Bad luck. Some stupidity.” She sighed, resuming her seat by the camping stove. “We were heading to New Vegas but were turned away at Sloan. Got back to Primm fair enough but between the new bloody gangers and the old bloody Vipers, we had to swing off the road.” She rubbed the back of her neck wearily. “Swung too far. Ran into a beastie out of Jack Rabbit Springs. One of the spitting ones. It got Hank.”

“Your father?” He looked to the comatose man, thinking her care of him could not be solely that of an employee. There was no slavery in the NCR so no duty between servant and master, no loyalty except through blood ties. She was old enough to be a wife but too young to belong to Hank, Caius considered, though if he was a rich man he might have bartered for her.

“Uncle Hank works for my dad.” She gave him a look he found difficult to interpret. Was she warning him she had family to avenger her? Had he said something to make her suspicious? “My name's Ann, thanks for asking.”

“William Cutter.” Caius gave her the name he had seen on the dog-tags of a NCR soldier. His first kill. He did not know any other suitable pseudonyms. She did not wear any tribe marks and his Latin name would make his allegiance obvious. “Only Ann?”

“Temperance Dunn.” Ann introduced herself fully as he had given his surname. “Ann for short.” All that got her was a nod. No jokes. That was a welcome change, and she had got off lightly considering some of the names bestowed on her childhood friends. Poor Pulchritude had not been happy with her name particularly once puberty had been generous to her.

He held out his mug and she refilled it, noting his hand shook. Will was making a good show of it but once the Mojave got its teeth into you it was hard to shake off. He wouldn't be fit to trudge for another couple of days, unless he had some place he really needed to be.

“Why are you here?” She returned his question to him and got a hard look for her trouble. Ann met his gaze giving him a bit of raised chin because it had been a civil damn question she'd answered when he'd asked it.

“I am lost.” Caius gave the short reply then bought himself time to think of more explanation by taking a long swallow of tea. “I was travelling... north... with friends. A deathclaw attacked us.” It sounded feeble to him but she nodded in acceptance.

“They've nested in the quarry at Sloan. That's why we were turned back. The road's shut down.” No one had been happy about that. The detour added almost a week to their journey. But as Hank had put it, better a long walk than a short life. “Fucking Powder Gangers.”

“Why the profanity?” He was not accustomed to such a foul tongue on a woman. Though, Caius had to admit to himself, he was not accustomed to any sort of tongue from a woman. He had been a legionary since he was old enough to hold a spear. He did not have rank yet for a wife and such slaves as he had used had not been used for conversation.

“They stole all the dynamite from the quarry. It's their fault the monsters moved in. It was bad enough when they took over the jail but now they're running fucking amok!” Ann heard her voice rise shrilly. She cut herself off before she hit rant. Rage is fuel. Her dad said that a lot. It worked better for him. She wanted to scream until she ran out of swear words then learn some more.

“The NCR does nothing?” Caius ventured cautiously. Having intel to report might mitigate the charge of desertion he would certainly face on his return. She laughed so hard she knocked off her own hat. Underneath her hair was the orange of new copper, braided tight to her head.

“They do what they always do. Talk a big show and fort up until someone else fixes the problem or a politician sees a god damned expense report.” Ann caught her hat before it blew away and fanned herself to cool her temper. Will was giving her the cold eyeball again. “Sorry if that offends. My dad moved his caravan business out here because the NCR taxes were killing us. Bit of a sore spot.”

“I am not offended.” He was interested. She was garrulous enough that he might obtain a great deal of information from her though it was unlikely to be of significant tactical worth. Caius was aware many of the traders and couriers who crossed the Mojave were in the employ of the Legion. He considered her over the rim of his mug. “Why so generous to a stranger? It is not expected in this miserable place.”

“You want the truth or something that doesn't make me sound pathetic?” Ann knew exactly why she had let the dusty, ragged, wounded man into her bolt-hole. And it was wretchedly stupid. His expression suggested he had a headache. She eased back on the banter. “I grew up in a bunker. People everywhere, no personal space. I don't like being alone. Really do not like it.”

They both looked at the silent form of Hank, lying still where she had left him. As silent as the grave. Ann spoke first.

“I don't know what else to do for him. I gave him all the RadAway we had.” She pressed her lips together in a firm line, willing herself to think of something to help her friend. Anything. There had to be a solution. It couldn't just end like this.

“He has no wounds.” Caius heard the unasked question and approached the man to see what might be done. He touched one of the weathered hands. A man of work. Hard work, from the scars and leanness. Not out of place in the Legion except for the tobacco stains on his calloused fingers.

“The bastard thing didn't get close enough to us. Just scared the hell out of me and Bessie with its tongue-tentacles. Hank got a few shots off at it while we ran then he caught up. He was covered in slime. I had to bury his clothes.” Ann wished they'd been carrying stimpaks. Even one would have helped. But there wasn't enough income to tie it up in such high value goods.

“Bessie?” He asked as he pressed his fingers into the clammy skin over the carotid pulse. The scant heartbeat was difficult to find. It told him nothing other than the man still struggled. Caius looked up, catching the woman's gesture to the dead brahmin.

“She collapsed just as we got here. I don't think she'd ever run in her life. She fell over then Hank was on the ground too. So I forted up.” Ann shrugged hopelessly. She couldn't leave and she couldn't send anyone for help. “I did everything Dad said always to do then the fucking geckos showed up.”

“More will come for the carcass.” He met her eyes. It was too dark now for him to see their colour though he guessed they were light to match her hair. Without the bandanna, she was pale, unpainted. Caius did not know if that was unusual. All the profligate women he had seen had been garish whores.

“I gutted her.” The act had been more difficult than she had expected. Ann had killed livestock before and dressed them, but she had known Bessie for as long as she could remember. The old girl had plodded along with whatever prospecting team her Dad could get going and he had kept her for sentimental reasons once he'd got enough to start his own caravan company. “Covered her in turpentine. It'll slow down the rot and keep away scavengers.”

Something in her expression told Caius if he chided her for wasting the meat, she would not take it well. If she had been his slave... but she was not. He needed her until he was fit to leave. And other than being maudlin, she had done nothing to merit castigation. The legionary wondered if he was making excuses not to argue with her because she had been kind to him.

“If he were mine, I would kill him.” His words were not as eloquent as they would have been in Latin. Caius could not explain why he would have given mercy to a comrade or why he thought it only decent for her to do the same without telling her more than he wanted her to know. He straightened, ready for her tears. Anyone who had mourned a beast would surely weep for a friend.

She did nothing more than look at the boxes around the camp. He thought she was staring blankly until he noticed her mouth move. Then he thought her praying until he realised she was counting. Doing a stock-take now?

“I can give him another day. There's water enough for us to stay for that long then get to the Outpost.” Ann knew she was putting off making the final decision. But Hank deserved another day. He might shake off whatever was wrong with him. Even if he didn't, he had earned the chance.

“The Mojave Outpost?” Caius asked, to change the subject. If they were that close to a NCR base he was very fortunate to have found that suitcase in the wrecked car. The clothes were dirty but they were not Legion red.

Ann pulled out her map, bringing it over to the camp stove so they could see. It was the size of a pillowcase, which in fact it had been. Her mother had embroidered little squares marking all the settlements along the old highways. She had added the locations of all the water sources they knew and little symbols for safe camp-grounds, copied from the scrap maps all sensible traders kept.

“We're here.” Ann pointed to a bit of undyed cotton between little symbols that looked like a dog, a double ring and square with a red border that had the name 'nipton' sewn beneath it. “The 'Post is here.” She moved her finger to a thick black line of stitching that intersected with another black line. Following that, she ended at a square with a teddy bear symbol above it. “That's where the Long 15 finishes. Or starts, depending on your politics.”

“This 'nipton' is close.” Caius stared at the map, etching it into his memory. He could see names he recognised to the east. No legionary would ever forget Boulder City. Placing that ruin meant he could reckon where their scouting had taken his contubernium and how far he had gone vagus.

“Nipton is a hole. I promised my mom we wouldn't go there. It's rough. Full of chem-heads and really cheap whores.” Ann had no serious qualm about anyone who worked horizontal. In a clean place it could be a good way to get caps. But even radroaches avoided Nipton. “Hank and I were going to walk on by in the early morning while everyone was still sleeping it off.”

Her expression made Caius smile. She looked as cunning as a stunned molerat. Sneaking past the profligates sunk in their debauchery was an acceptable tactic, though the dying man would have had to be particularly watchful. Women were a valuable commodity. Judging from the maternal injunction, her parents were aware of the dangers.

“Why is it only you and he?” The Mojave roads were not safe. NCR were lax and let filth prey on travellers. Land so poorly governed deserved to be lost.

“Don't get me started. It's a damn jeremiad.” Ann folded up her map carefully stowing it away inside her coat. “We used to run four solid as caravans, two guards on/off, with Dad, Mom, Hank and my brother For prior 'scription.”

“Your brother for?” Caius knew the word 'jeremiad' from the Malpais Legate. It came from the New Canaanite holy book and meant a lengthy written lamentation. But when she became agitated, her accent thickened making it difficult for him to follow her slang.

“Sorry. My brother's name is Forthright. Old bunker tradition.” She explained as usual. Will did not seem to marvel at it. Ann poured them both a mug of nuka tea and clarified further. “We lived in a storage complex under what had been a big library. All the tunnels were packed with books. Everywhere books. So when it came to naming a baby, the parents opened a dictionary at random and that word was the name.”

Caius nodded to signal understanding. Before his tribe had been conquered, their names had come from the first thing the new mother had seen on leaving the birthing tent. That had changed under Caesar. His name had come from a book too. It seemed a sensible way of choosing. The priestesses would call it propitious.

“So four caravans, owned outright, each with a guard walking and a guard riding. Meaning someone was always fresh for night watch.” Ann recapped and got another nod. “That was a couple of years ago before shit started running downhill.” She stared at her drink then at the stars. Neither provided counsel. “The bunker air filters failed. We didn't know until half of us came down with a god-awful bacterial pneumonia. We had to leave, which meant living in the NCR proper. Which meant paying taxes. Lots and lots of fucking taxes. And conscription. My brother was hauled off by some army asshole when he turned eighteen.”

She went quiet, staring at nothing.


	3. Mellifluous

Caius excused himself to urinate. She mutely indicated further down the gully. He went in that direction taking the candle she lit for him. That was a small economy he noticed. There were disconnected fission battery lanterns amongst the trade goods but while she had the stove lit, it was their sole source of light. The small taper would do for a short trip. There was nothing profligate in her use of supplies.

A few paces beyond the awning a patchwork curtain hung from a collapsible metal pole jammed into the sandstone. Caius carefully parted it, keeping it away from his candle flame as the cloth had an odd chemical smell. That scent concealed the odour of the necessary pit and possibly also killed insects as there were surprisingly few. There was also a seat.

The legionary did not consider himself a dainty man. No soldier could be. But the simple metal stool with the wide hole in the middle was a welcome sign of civilisation. Caius put his candle on it, relieved himself and washed his hands in the basin provided. However impromptu her camp, the merchant woman could be commended on the logistics.

“Any blood?” Ann asked on his return. He shook his head, thankful himself to see no damage had been done internally by the deprivation. Good on her word to feed him, she gave him a bowl of stew. Caius ate slowly though the broth was thin and the miscellaneous chunks were small. Food for invalids, he diagnosed.

“Gecko?” The meat had an almost fish taste; gamy but not dense. There were vegetables he recognised though few spices. Caius silently thanked Mars for leading him here and thanked Vesta for providing such an able nurse. 

“Yep. Seemed only fair considering the little bastards wanted to eat me.” She smirked before tucking into the meal herself. It wasn't bad though she liked it with more potato but fresh vegetables did not travel well in the heat. Her aunt Gloss had a recipe for spud-in-a-jar that was very tasty. Unfortunately preserves were heavy and fragile to transport. And InstaMash was tile grout in disguise.

Caius watched her covertly. He had caught a subtle difference in her manner. Prior to her mention of the bunker's epidemic she had been quite animated. Now she was more withdrawn. It was not a marked change. Her reply to his question had been pleasant enough. But the sardonic expression did not suit her.

“When the bunker sickened, did you bury kin?” The legionary asked in the tribal manner, remembering the phrase his decanus had used. Red-Sand had been almost a grown man when his tribe bowed to Caesar and had kept some of his people's customs. Inquiring this way seemed kinder than the Legion expression. Caius doubted any of her family had 'gone to Rome.'

“Yep.” Ann answered on a long sigh. She appreciated his slightly clumsy way of asking. It was orders of magnitude less harsh than the response they had got when she and her dad had asked for medical assistance from the NCR. The old Doc's porch, the site of many a whiskey-anaesthetised operation, had been replaced by a military clinic. And the clinic had paperwork. “Fucking vital paperwork.”

Caius waited for an explanation of the non sequitur. This time the silence conspired with him. She seemed discomfited with the growing lacuna and strove to fill it.

“We traded with the communities nearby. We weren't sealed off like a Vault. But, well, we had a defensible base. We defended it, while they got overrun. We gave what help we could afterwards or took in the survivors. But when things got lean or there was a bad raider season, we turtled up. There's a lot you can do with building rubble. No one got near us if we didn't want them to.” They had been safe, which was rare currency anywhere.

“There'd been a heavy tough gang in the area for a while. The Tarantulas. They'd been pushed out by the NCR further north and settled on us like ticks. Burned farmsteads. Kidnapped people. Made a show of marking them they'd hurt. It got bad. We pulled our traders back, forted up. When we came out again, suddenly we were in NCR territory. They'd annexed the area in exchange for wiping out the gang.”

“But.” Caius heard the caveat and gave voice to it. Ann nodded.

“But we hadn't asked for help. So now we were outsiders. When we went into the settlements to trade, they called us cowards. Like we could have done anything. And the locals parroted them. People we'd known forever wouldn't deal with us any more. We had to trade further, were gone longer. Dad and I got back to the bunker after months away and my grandparents were dead. One of my aunts and three of my little cousins, too.”

“The only people not sick were those who'd been outside the bunker. We'd had flu outbreaks before. Packed in so close, everyone got anything. But this time it was worse, much harder to shake off.” Ann faltered. She hadn't talked to anyone about this. Her family knew already and no one else gave a damn. Will just sat there listening. Letting her vent.

“We rigged up an infirmary. Tried to quarantine.” Tried everything. Flushed all the systems. Moved bunks outside. Used all the meds, chems, herbal remedies and booze they had. “But we lost all the babies, all the elders. And when we did ask for help, we got requisition forms. The clinic wouldn't release any antibiotics to us until we had countersigned docs. From a base a day's travel away. Six people died while Hank and Dad ran to get mother-fucking paperwork.”

The long banked anger rose in her face in a harsh flush but her tone remained fairly even. This time when she paused, Caius did not prompt her to continue. He knew seething vengeance when he saw it and it delighted him. This was something he could use. Something the Legion could use. So he waited.

Ann took a deep breath then let it out. Breathe out the pain. It was a mantra for women in childbirth. The yogic breathing apparently helped with contractions. Didn't seem to do much for her right now though.

“The pneumonia ran its course. By the time we got the antibiotics, anyone who was going to get better was on the mend. We put the bodies in the bunker, opened the vents and the gas lines then let the whole place burn. We'd figured out by then what had happened. Some replacement parts for one of the air scrubbers had been contaminated. It spread bacterial colonies all through our ventilation system. Impossible to get rid of all of them to make the place safe again.”

“Sabotage?” When the Legion faced an entrenched community such as she had described, one of the tactics often used was targeted wrecking or vandalism. It was often completely deniable and sowed discord in the enemy.

“I don't think so.” Ann gave him a sharp glance. She did not want to believe someone had done that to them. But the allegation had been raised at the time. Things had got ugly between them and the locals. Another reason why her Dad wanted to get out of California. “However it happened, it gutted us. We tried to stay together in town but there were too many broken ties. My best friend ran away with some tribal. We were just done, the lot of us.”

“You came here.” Caius finished his stew. He wanted more but he would wait to see how the meal sat on his stomach. She gave him more tea. Sipping it, he tried not to think of how comfortable he was. This woman was a degenerate. He needed to remember that.

“Is that a polite way of saying 'march on, comrade?'” Ann asked, grinning for no sensible reason. The relief of talking about what had happened had left her unexpectedly giddy. Will's suddenly flinty face made her laugh. “Don't worry, I'm not a Commie. It's just an expression. From an old song. I swear.”

“I do not know the old song.” He consciously relaxed his features, castigating himself for reacting to her remark. She had not been hinting she knew he was a legionary. She was simply being foreign and addled.

“Brace yourself.” Giving him fair warning, Ann sang the first stanza of 'Alte Kameraden' in her best pseudo-German with the appropriate attempt at lowering her voice to a gruff soldier baritone. The bunker had stored an eclectic collection of sheet music, for reasons that had probably made sense before the bombs. They only had improvised drums and rattles but the bunker acoustics had been great for choral fun. Caius listened astounded to the recital then gave his report.

“You sing like a duck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find the full lyrics of 'Alte Kameraden' on glorious Wikipedia.
> 
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alte_Kameraden


	4. Fortress of Solitude

Caius was not maddened. He was not confused. He was becoming increasingly irritated with himself that he could not decipher what he was or what he had done. That he had done something was obvious from her manner.

Last night, he had insulted her. In whatever language she had been defiling, her singing was terrible. She had laughed at his words, given him another bowl of stew then gone to check the perimeter defences leaving him to sleep at his leisure. Before dawn, she had shaken him awake to stand watch while she slept. He seemed to have passed some sort of test. But he did not know what or how.

In between watching the desolate landscape, the legionary glanced at the merchant woman dozing with her hat shading her face. Evidently, she trusted him. Or considered him fit enough to be a sentry. Or was so tired from guarding the camp alone that it no longer mattered what he did or did not do. Or thought him no threat and was sleeping as she would have ordinarily. Or...

Or he was unaccustomed to being in the company of a degenerate and simply could not read her cues. Caius cursed himself for his distraction. His fellows often mocked him for over-thinking small matters. But details bothered him. He made a conscious effort to notice things. Unfortunately noticing was not the same as understanding.

She had butchered the geckos, cutting the meat thinly to hang on a drying rack some distance from the mouth of the gully. He had a clear view of the wooden frame from where he sat behind the brahmin carcass. The animals' hides were pegged out on the hot sand to the east, in between yucca plants. Canny predators would avoid the skins purely out of suspicion of what might be beneath them. That would slow any approach from that direction.

To the west, she had scattered the lizard remains amongst the rocky scree. It was easy to hide bones on stony, broken ground. He would have dug one large pit, adding any refuse from the encampment. That would have taken time with only her to do it. The small scavengers who picked over the detritus were no risk to them as the camp would not be there long enough for the vermin to become habituated to their presence.

Another day maybe two. Caius weighed plans as he watched the sun burn the shade from the desert. She had said she would give the dying man more time. He contemplated resolving the matter for her by smothering him while she slept. It would bring the waiting to an end.

However, it was not the waiting itself that was difficult. What came afterwards occupied his thoughts. She meant to go west. He needed to go east, and needed her supplies to make the trek. His scouting party was already overdue. Hurrying back would make no difference to his punishment. If he used his predicament to gain intelligence on the enemy then it would be worth it. Something good had to come from the deaths of his comrades.

It seemed... sensible to accompany her to the Bear's outpost. Caius wanted his decision to be purely rational. Tactical. But he was aware his motives could be called into question by anyone who might see her take off her coat. Underneath was distracting.

The legionary grimaced at his own thoughts. He sounded like an ignorant virgin. The merchant woman had generous breasts. Caius vexedly acknowledged that to himself. Divested of the leather duster, she was suitably indeed impressively round. 

That he had noticed indicated he was healing well. That was all he was prepared to allow himself to think. He had lain with women often enough it was not a novelty. Also it was likely he would be unable to complete the act even if he did break discipline to indulge himself. Just standing guard was making him weary.

Therefore travelling with her was not a choice based on lust. Nor pathetic lap-dog gratitude for his rescue. He went west to spy. If he did this well, he might save himself from the cross. And serve the Legion as was his duty.


	5. Walking Wounded

Ann woke with cotton-mouth and rock-back and all the other little aches that made her homesick. She lifted her hat hopefully. One day she would wake upon a lush vista with scantily clad jinni ready to peel grapes and fan her with peacock feathers. 

Not today.

Will was glaring at the countryside like it had said something about his mother. Hank was there on his side just as she'd left him. Ann crawled over and rolled him gently onto his other side, making a hollow for his hip so he could lie comfortably. Like almost everything else she knew, she had learned that from a book. He didn't even groan.

“Oh fuck it.” She felt his forehead and took his pulse and tried not to feel inept. “Come on, Uncle Hank. Look at me hanging things crooked. I know that irks you. I'll sleep with my boots on next and burn the coffee.” Ann rubbed his hands. They were dry now, not clammy. He was warmer too. Was that a good sign? “If you don't wake up right now, I'll find a tattooed junkie with no job prospects and run off with him.”

“Why do that?” Caius had listened to her nonsense and dismissed it as a plaintive attempt to rally the dead. The last threat was so unlikely he wondered at its significance.

“His niece did. Hank was ropeable. Trudy just took off one day with a Great Khan. Left a note that basically said 'screw y'all, new guy's more fun'.” She got a bottle of water, making a tally mark on the crate, and washed Hank's face. “She's the only close family he has left. He took it real personal.”

“Hank and Trudy?” He asked, accepting the bottle and a rag after she had cleaned her own face. It was nothing like bathing but it did make him feel less rancid.

“Thanklessly Hardt and Pulchritude Hardt.” Ann shuffled over to the camp stove to do something frugal about lunch. “Some of us use nicks if we get a mouthful name, though my mom is always Consanguine never Connie or Saggy.” She chuckled at the little joke Will wouldn't get and didn't explain. “Hungry?”

“Yes.” Caius was ravenous. He had been waiting for her to rouse to cook something. It was women's work. And he had once managed to burn fruit. Raw fruit. In a bowl. No one, himself included, had understood how.

Ann lit the camp-stove with her lighter then unscrewed the lids on the pots. All the bunker-kin cookware had a screw-grain cut into their lips. It kept bugs from getting in and meant meals could be served all day from the pack saddle. She decanted the last of the tea then scooped out the leaves at the bottom into a muslin bag, squeezing out the last of the liquid. The little bag got hung up to dry.

“You use it again?” The legionary asked, accepting yet another mug of nuka tea. Ann knocked hers back quickly so she could put her mug and the pot out in the sun. The metal would heat up to scorching and sterilise itself.

“Nope, it's spent. But the residual sugar makes it into good tinder.” She stirred up the gecko stew then added the last of the fresh produce as by tomorrow it would've turned to slurry. “How are you feeling? Honest, not manly optimism.”

“I sweat again.” Caius wiped a hand on his scavenged shirt. His face still felt made of linen; scratchy and fibrous. But that was just sunburn. The salve had worked well on his mouth. “Fit to march. Not fit to fight.”

“I want to take Hank to Nipton.” Ann spoke in a rush, looking at the stew pot not her uncle. “Well, no, I don't really want to take him to that pit but it's the closest town. There has to be a doctor there. I can't move him alone but together we could stretcher him. I need to do something for him. Will you help me?”

“He will die soon.” He stated a fact. The bluntness made her look at him. Her eyes were a grey nothing colour like bleached asphalt.

“Is that a no?” She asked coldly. Ann waited for an answer, clamping down so hard on her feelings she trembled. She wouldn't beg. She'd asked fair for fair. If he refused... she'd find another way to help Hank.

“You said you were forbidden to go to that place.” Caius noticed her shaking. Was she that upset about the man dying? Perhaps she felt she had buried too many kin already. How much was her oath to her mother worth? The Dissolute gave their word easily and discarded it as lightly.

“It's a bad news town but we can reach it. I don't think we can carry him past the Vipers to the Outpost.” Now was the time for blunt so Ann didn't spare his ego. “And I doubt you're fit for that trip anyway.”

“I will help.” He did not like the allegation of weakness. However, he could not dispute it. He had evacuated wounded on the long retreat from Hoover Dam. Their centurion had ordered what men who could be saved should be carried with them, to salvage what they could from the defeat. Only to have most die on the beach when there were not rafts enough to take them across the river.

“Thanks, Will.” Ann gave him a double helping of stew in lieu of a hug. “Eat up and rest up. I'll pack. If we head out at sunset, it'll be easier.” Nothing like delusional optimism to make an ordeal seem achievable.

Hank had run all day and back to get them the meds, after he'd buried his husband the morning before. She was not going to sit on her ass when he needed her.


	6. Durance Vile

Again pride saved Caius from disgrace. He refused to show himself weaker than a Dissolute woman. However much he ached and staggered, he kept going. They were fortunate Hank was not a hefty man. The stretcher was a light construction of pipes and canvas, rigged with a long strap at either end to loop over the shoulders and ease the weight. But the burden over sand made each step treacherous and the trek was punishing.

The legionary had noted the merchant woman had given herself a backpack but had not further burdened him beyond providing him with a firearm. She carried the water, essentials and easily sold valuables. Caius was stung by her assessment of his vigour. He was more stung that she was correct.

They reached Nipton by midnight.

He leant wheezing and sick against a derelict building. His head spun. His breath eluded him. He felt as soft as the degenerates who make the town raucous. When Ann offered him water, Caius glared. She at least had the decency to look spent herself, flushed crimson and sweating. But she rushed off with no more than a pat on his shoulder leaving him to guard the stretcher.

“Audax ad omnia femina, quae vel amat vel odit.”* He muttered to the unconscious man as he tried not to look as feeble as he felt. They were on the outskirts of the town though that was difficult to judge from the dilapidated buildings and unkempt streets. Most of the houses were dark except for a strip either side of the main road bisecting the settlement.

It stank. Caius gulped water so he did not have to breathe through his nose. It was a stench composed of bodily waste, poor hygiene and lax morals. And idiocy. He watched a half-naked man stagger into a wooden fence, fall over it when befoul himself with his own vomit. A shrill woman mocked the man before searching his person and skulking off with whatever she had found to steal.

Discordant music from competing radios, bellowed curses and laughter made his wait seem endless. He had recovered enough to wish more weaponry than the .45 calibre pistol she had entrusted him. Ten legionaries would go through this place like the wrath of the gods. Why did the Profligates have to advertise their corruption so shamelessly?

“Will?” Her voice intruded on his musings on how to assault the town.

“I am here.” He signalled. She approached him cautiously until she was close enough to be sure who he was. 

“There's a sort of clinic.” Ann kicked her foot on something half-buried. The garish lights of the 'party lane' had wrecked her night-vision. “Ouch. Shit. I do not want to know what that was.” She put a hand on his arm to reassure herself she was not alone. “We can take Hank there. It says 'medicking'. I really hope that isn't a euphemism for playing doctor.”

Caius did not understand her slang until they reached the clinic. It was in a side street and flaunted itself with a battery-run sign that was probably a syringe. Or it could have been an erect male member. The customers littering the porch made Ann's trepidation perfectly sound. One of them wore a lab-coat and offered herself to them as they carried the stretcher forward.

“Stand aside.” Caius almost snarled. His outrage held enough auctoritas to clear a path to the door. Inside was not much better. The odours of the trade warred with alcohol, which might have been a heartening sign of attempted cleanliness except most of the liquor wafted from the doctor.

“Step up, step up.” The scrawny man levered himself to his feet. “It's twenty caps for me to look and fifty for me to do anything about it.” He took the money Ann offered, counting it while she almost danced with impatience.

“We were attacked by a monster. High rad. It spat goo...” Her explanation faltered as he waved her to silence until he reached seventy.

“Right, goo. Let's see.” He directed them to move the stretcher onto an examination table. Caius studied him contemptuously as he poked and prodded Hank, listening to his chest with a long tube thing with ear pieces. “Hmm.” He peeled back an eyelid with a thumb then peered into both the trader's ears. “Classic case. I get it a lot. Thrombotic carcinoma of the axillae. Nasty but treatable. Three hundred caps.”

“I'll just have a quick word with my friend.” Ann said tautly, pulling Will out of the clinic and down the street until they could speak privately. “I know what carcinoma means but not the rest. Is he talking bullshit?”

“Yes.” Caius stated firmly. “There is no bloody cancer of the armpit.” He saw the outline of her shoulders sag. She turned away from him, putting her face in shadow. He did not need to see to know she was crying.

The legionary did not understand from where the urge came. He was surprised himself when he touched her back, turning her so he could put his arms around her. The merchant woman sobbed quietly into his chest. Caius stood there like a Signum; a standard with no one to rally.

Ann wept until the pain in her chest eased and she had to gulp for air. The front of Will's shirt was sodden. She sniffed before it got snotty too, fumbling through her pockets for a handkerchief. Eventually she found one and he let her go so she could mop up and blow her nose with what dignity she had left.

“Fuck him.” Ann swore. She wanted to get angry. She wanted to storm back into the clinic and throttle that cock-sucking doc with his own stethoscope. But right now she just felt tired. The let down made it hard to think. They had to sort this shit out. Scrubbing her face with her sleeve, she tried to rise to the occasion. “Okay.” She croaked. “Got any ideas?”

“None.” Caius lied. He had a great many ideas. All of which involved fire. There was enough flammable spirit in this pit he could raze the town. The trick would be locking all the doors quickly enough to ensure the profligates burned with their filth.

“Me neither.” She found another hanky and wiped her eyes. Right. Stuff to do. “Please go stay with Hank while I find us somewhere to sleep.” Will rose further in her estimation by not saying anything. Ann didn't think she could keep it together if he'd tried to make her feel better. Instead, he headed back to the clinic and she went to party lane to find the least skanky place available.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * translation: 'A woman, when inflamed by love or by hatred, will dare everything.'


	7. Perchance to Dream

Once when she and her Dad had been caught by a sandstorm, they'd bunked down in an old sewer. It had been long abandoned, half-collapsed. The pile of debris had been the only thing separating them from the feral ghouls baying on the other side. She'd had nightmares for weeks and still shivered when the wind howled that certain way.

So Hotel Happy was not the worst place she had stayed but sure as hell it was up in the rankings.

“It's not a brothel.” Ann tried to excuse the hovel as she and Will carried Hank into the small room. “And the lock's pretty good.”

“We will move the bed against the door.” Caius declared, receiving no argument from her. They put Hank by the boarded-up window where he would be safe from their redecoration. The metal bedstead protested when they shifted it but aligned neatly with the scratches on the jamb, suggesting they were not the first to barricade themselves here.

Caius cleared the floor and arranged the bedroll while Ann tended to her uncle. His weight in denarii would not convince him to sleep on the mattress. If offered his weight in aurei, he would still hesitate. The legionary was certain the mattress had quivered when he touched it.

He stretched out on the blanket, grimacing as muscles across his back and shoulders punished him. Caius groaned when he reached up for the bottle she offered but waved away her concern. He shifted onto his side to drink as she unlaced her boots, shedding coat and hat before hesitating.

“Could you roll over the other way?” Ann asked. She was prepared to get changed in the same room. Hell, she was going to sleep beside him. But she didn't want him practically nose to tit when she took her shirt off.

“I am too tired.” Caius screwed the cap onto the bottle and lay back down. He shut his eyes. He kept his eyes shut not for her modesty but his peace of mind. She was not a whore or a slave. Only the Dissolute gave into their urges and rutted like animals.

Ann chuckled. Yeah, it was a bit like that. She changed out of her sweaty, dirty clothes into her comfy jammies. She'd have to put everything back on in the morning but that was the morning. And she'd been in those clothes for days. They were nearly standing up by themselves.

“I've got a change for you.” Her voice was quiet. Ann didn't really know why. It wasn't anything. She hadn't even thought about it other than the same she'd thought for her. That after slogging to Nipton it'd be nice not to sleep in her own stink. “They're new. I mean, they're not Hank's. If you want 'em.”

Caius looked at her. She wore a loose shirt and shorts in a soft old fabric, worn smooth and pale. He nodded, thinking that anything clean would be welcome. She turned her back on him while he disrobed, hanging her clothes over the bedstead. It irritated him she did not gather his garments to do the same. To avoid a charge of being slovenly, the legionary picked up after himself.

When he returned to his place on the bedroll there was a chaste handspan between them and the merchant woman was already asleep. Caius smirked as he closed his eyes. No stamina, that was...

He woke to silence. Some small sound was missing and the lack of it had roused him. His Legion training prompted him to lie quietly, eyes lidded, listening intently. Ann was no longer beside him. He sat up with hand reaching for the machete he did not have.

A finger of daylight clawed through the boards on the window, catching the side of her face as she sat beside the stretcher. She held the dead man's hand in hers. Her posture told Caius all he needed. It was done. 

Had she done it? The legionary did not ask. He lay down to go back to sleep and give them their privacy. But she had heard him move.

“There are some things I've got to buy.” Ann didn't turn around. Caius shoved the bedstead to the side, disdaining quiet as it was past dawn. Time to be awake even for Profligates. She dressed and left. He did not ask where she was going. 

When he died, if he died well and within scope of comrades, his body would be cremated and his ashes buried at the shrine to Mars in Flagstaff. That was enough. More than his comrades had got. He would make offerings for their spirits to rest easy, though their families had most likely already been informed of their deaths. He had a duty.

Ann returned with empty hands and a full pack. And a brahmin. Caius had expected a shovel. He tended the beast while she shrived the corpse then they left Nipton with little interest from the locals. The legionary made note of that. Two people, a pack animal and a shrouded body garnered not a twitch of a curtain. 

They headed in silence back to the gully. Ann stopped only twice to check her bearings on a compass as the open country gave them good vantages to retrace their steps. Caius watched for enemies and felt under-clad without his armour.

The gully camp was as they had left it. Ann collected a few things before leading the laden brahmin on to a smaller ravine nearby. It was long but shallow, entirely enclosed at one end. Caius might have called it a cave except he could touch both sides with arms bent. They put Hank there, right at the back where the sand was moist underfoot.

The legionary would have left it at that. It was a decent place. Chthonic enough for Pluto to find the dead man. But Ann was not finished. She put a blanket over the corpse and tucked a pillow behind its head. From out her pack came a clock, a pre-war contraption with metal bells on the top. She put it beside him, adding a battered book and a lunch-box. 

How those things would help her uncle on his journey to the afterlife, Caius did not know, though he supposed a snack might be welcome. The dead hungered. He did not pester her with questions as they withdrew from the ravine though it surprised him she said nothing over the body; no prayer or remembrance.

They piled rocks in front of the opening, blocking it off to keep scavengers out. The young woman did not speak until she had loaded the rest of the trade-goods onto the brahmin, breaking down the camp site with practised efficiency. She offered him a backpack.

“Water and food and stuff. Whatever you'd need to get you wherever.” It was more than fair, Ann reckoned. Will had earned it and if he had some place to be, she didn't want to keep him from it. “But, well.” Her hands shook as she held out the supplies. She really did not want to be alone right now. “You can walk with me if you want.”

“I will.” Caius took the pack, shrugging it on and feeling less like a beggar. Her smile made him feel something too but he pushed that away. “Is there anything more you need do?”

“Not until sundown. We'll be at the road by then.” Ann didn't want to talk about it. She'd done right by Hank but he was still gone. It hadn't made it hurt any less. “Everything's a bit shit right now. I'm glad though that we met.” She offered him her hand.

“As am I.” Caius responded, shaking her hand awkwardly. It was not a gesture common in the Legion. Her head tilted as though confused. He could not read her expression behind the bandanna though he thought he heard a soft chuckle. The Dissolute were inexplicable.


	8. Westward Bound

They headed south. The brahmin set their pace. It was a scrawny, maltreated beast that the legionary considered no use except for boot leather. But Ann coaxed it along and let it rest or chew as it wished. Whenever the beast stopped, she pulled out a dusty pair of binoculars to scan south-west.

“Ambush?” Caius disdained the device, simply shading his face to survey the terrain in that direction. His eyes were good and he prefered a wide field of view. He did lament the loss of his goggles for the heat haze cast fata morgana at the reach of his vision.

“I don't see anything but the Pit Stop is a favourite for Jackals.” Ann looked up at the sun. Still had an hour of light in hand and she could see Route 164 in the distance. “I want to follow the One-Six-Four. It hits the Fifteen clear direct.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “But I can't spot any wreckage.”

Caius could not see anything or anyone on the road either. That would usually be advantageous though from her tone it seemed she thought otherwise. He put himself in the mindset of a merchant. If there were often parasites on your route yet you could see no evidence of them, why would it vex you?

“If they have not attacked this day, they will be hungry.”

“Yep. It's a bastard thing to wish on somebody else but if those assholes are celebrating, they're not lying in wait for us.” Ann didn't like passing that parcel but she and Will were sure not scary enough to run off a pack of gangers. “Of course, it may be open. Maybe, maybe, maybe.”

“Fast or safe.” Caius summed up their dilemma. The road was the quickest route but gave them little cover. Cutting across country hid them better but left them vulnerable to the fauna and slowed their progress.

“I'm a bitumen girl. I vote for fast.” She hung the binoculars around her neck. Usually she kept them in her backpack as she didn't like the weight bouncing on her boobs but it was the time for eyeballing everything. “If we hit tar now, we'll pass the Stop in the dark. No lights means no baddies. The jerkwads can't help but torch stuff.”

“Fast.” He agreed and they resumed their trudge. “What is after the Pit Stop?”

“A big intersection with a collapsed overpass. An old gas station and a derelict store. Some scorpions.” Ann gave him a sympathetic look, remembering the mess of stings on his arms. “We'll skirt the 'section. More southing we do after the Stop, faster we get to the Post. It's a bit of a hike up.”

When they reached the tarred road and the merchant woman did a little dance, Caius laughed. She just shrugged at him then walked on as though the ritual was of little import. He dismissed it as youthful ebullience. Though at sunset when she stopped and turned to the east, the legionary did take interest.

“Noise?”

“It's alright. This is for my uncle. You don't really die until the darkness comes.” Ann pointed to the first twinkling motes on the deep blue horizon. “We were taught we're made of star-stuff. That we'll go back there when it's all over.” It was a nice thing to believe. “Hank thought that was bullshit. He didn't want to be reborn as flaming gas. He wanted to rest on cool earth and just sleep. That's what he told me. To sleep past all rousing, past all chores, with Chekhov and Uncle Dom.”

“The lunch-box?” Caius asked, feeling an intruder for doing so. He should have kept his silence. He was not kin. He had no right to share this moment with her.

“Hank brought souvenirs back from all his trips. Little things but special. Dom kept them all in that box. Their wedding rings are in there too. Other stuff, I never asked. It was private.” Ann took in a shaky breath. She stared at the stars, clearly at first then blurredly as her eyes filled with tears. “Good night, Uncle Hank. Sleep well.”

They went on in companionable quiet. The brahmin plodded seemingly oblivious to everything bar its stomach. Ann fell into an easy, loose-hipped stride almost bouncing on the road using the spring of the asphalt to help her along. Caius marched. 

As the sun sank below the hills and the shadows lengthened they both drew their guns. They moved warily within sight of the Pit Stop, a dark smudge of broken masonry against the paler sand. No one shouted or shot at them. When they reached the ruin, there was nothing to cause alarm. Even the campfire was cold.

Ann shrugged at her own paranoia. She could hardly complain about not being attacked though she did wonder if the Vipers knew something she didn't. But there was no one here to ask and no sign of a fight. As the Stop was abandoned, she mused on spending the night there then decided against it. They were so close to the Outpost it made more sense to press on.

The road curved south at the foot of a sharp rise, revealing a floodlit pair of statues in the distance. As soon as the metal men came into view Ann put her semi-automatic away. She took her hat off as well, letting it hang down her back on a lanyard.

“The snipers can see us from here. Some of 'em have night-scopes.” Pulling her bandanna down, she smiled wryly at Will. “Time to look nice and civilian. I usually try for respectable but I'm all out.”

“Do they shoot travellers often?” Caius holstered the pistol. He was wearing a found suit and boots so scuffed they could have belonged to anyone. If someone clad this way had approached his guard post, he would have assumed them a vagabond or a spy and set the dogs on them.

“Most've been out here for a while so they know a lot of the regulars. But some of the Rangers have a 'shoot first and ask no questions' policy.” Ann hadn't had any misunderstandings with the sentries but she'd heard tales from other traders about itchy trigger fingers.

The condition of the road deteriorated towards the junction and the brahmin became skittish. Caius was contemplating making a spear to prod the beast to give it more incentive for forward locomotion when it suddenly shied. Ann lunged to catch the halter and tried to soothe the animal. The two-headed bovine rolled its eyes and pushed at her to walk sideways off the road.

“There is a smell.” Caius crouched, putting a hand to the ground. The tar was tacky from the heat of the day and held only its own odour. Almost no wind. But he knew the scent of decay. His eyes lifted to the buildings beyond the collapsed culvert. A shop and what had likely been a garage when the gas station had been in service. He could not tell much more than that in the gloom. “A foul thing is near.”

“Then we walk on by.” Ann followed Will's gaze then shook her head. She'd seen raider leftovers before and bodies left in the open to rot. Bloated with crawling and buzzing. “I've a full store of gore already. Don't need no more.”

“I will look.” He wanted to know for certain what had happened. Caius gestured for her to move off the road and she went gladly. The legionary crossed to the station side of the intersection. The smell was much worse here. Two crows flew out from the bent struts of the gas sign; restless spirits. And when he neared he saw why. A body hung from the rafters.

He, it, was an NCR trooper though for some reason had left his uniform folded to the side tidily under his boots and helmet. The carrion birds had not been kind but Caius thought the dead man was young. There was a letter stuffed into one of the boots. If Ann had not warned him of night-scopes, he might have taken it. As it was, he returned to the woman.

“A suicide.” He told her. She reached for his hand and squeezed it gently. Caius did not know what to think of the gesture so he returned it in an attempt not to seem alien. The brahmin insisted they leave, tugging at Ann's arm to be away from the smell.

Slogging up the hill past the ruined vehicles, they noticed signs of considerable traffic. There were several small camps spilling out of the Outpost cordon. Although it was not that late, there was a subdued atmosphere. Fires burned low and from one of them, a woman called out to them. Ann turned quickly at the hail.

“Mom?”


	9. Reunion

“Temperance! Here!” Consanguine Dunn could pick out her daughter's silhouette anywhere. When the bunker had forted up, they'd run on half-power and the kids had got restive. Knowing which brat to grab to broker peace was a useful parenting skill. She stood, putting herself in front of the banked fire to be more visible.

The trader matron knew something was wrong as soon as the pair with the brahmin turned towards her. The pack animal was clumsy, which Bessie never was, and the man beside Temperance walked like his knees owed him money. He wasn't Hank. She quietly checked for her knife because the world was a harsh place that was not going to take another child from her.

“Stand easy.” Ann saw the little flinch and knew it for what it was. They all carried 'insurance' while hoping never to need it. She hurried forward so her mother could see she was alright. That haste turned into a hug and the hug into sobs as she attempted to explain what had happened.

Caius stood there trying not to just stand there. Should he speak? Should he take the reins of the stupid beast before it stepped on someone? Should he sit and ignore Ann weeping? There were other Dissolute around the fire. He looked to them for a social cue but no one would meet his gaze. They were all studiously preoccupied with not noticing.

Eventually Ann ran out of tears and managed a coherent narrative. She was shaking as she spoke, fingers taut-pale on the brahmin's reins but she said all the things that needed to be said. Hank was dead, buried properly, Bessie was dead too and the trade-goods salvaged. The legionary noticed the order of priority. Perhaps not all Degenerates were greedy leeches, though his charity was taxed by the harsh look mater Dunn shot him.

“Ma'am.” Caius greeted the older woman politely. That did not seem to thaw her. If she sent him away, he would go. The pack Ann had given him would see him most of the way back to the Legion, if he were frugal. And fortunate.

“Just sit, both you.” Consanguine pulled her daughter down to the fire, leaving Stone-Face to do as he liked. If he had sense, he would join them and pretend to be no trouble. Right now it was real important to look no bother at all. “There's been something. Bad.”

“It was fine east.” Ann wet a handkerchief to mop her face. She'd own her tears. She'd known Hank all her life. But her mother's tone held warning so she put her feelings away to pay attention. “To Nipton, least. No word there of tumult.”

“There wouldn't be. Whatever it is, the Bear has it screwed on tight.” In all her years walking the roads, Consanguine had honed her suspicion into a razor and it stung so sharp now she could feel it down to the bone. “But it's big. There were troopers on the road, and not a word did we get. None here got any traction.” She swept a hand around to include her neighbours. “Half of 'em wouldn't even look up when we waved.”

“I knowed a few dem boys o'west.” An older man with an accent so broad Caius could barely comprehend spoke up next. He offered a bottle to Ann, which she took with thanks. “No fuss, miss'um. You get dat in you while we get grab on what up. Like I says, I know dem boys. One's even striped. So I had word, all sly.” He bared his yellow teeth, the incisors filed to points. That was a tribal sign the legionary did not recognise so he made note of it. “Got told to bury it deep up my ass and keep seat on it.”

“Will and me, well honest just Will, found a self-kill by the 'section.” She would have said more but when Ann took a swig of Fresno Dave's cactus juice she lost the power of speech. Consanguine had to slap her on the back quite hard before the coughing stopped. The other traders laughed. They ran on moonshine, cheap cigs and food so junk it should have been landfill.

“You bunker-babes got no grit.” A merchant Caius had assumed from her lean build was a man had a high, jocund voice. Her mockery garnered no offense from either Dunn woman suggesting they were accustomed to the jibe.

“There's a stoppage on the Long 15. We're all bogged here until the guards search for contraband.” Consanguine took the bottle from Ann, had a swallow herself, gasped, then passed it on. “Except the gate goons aren't the ones doing the rummage. We're knee deep in Rangers but when the troops crossed they were waved right through.”

“Smuggling ain't it.” A big man with feathers in his hair accepted the bottle, raised it to the west then had a swig. “They're hunting people.” He gave the bottle to the taunting woman then tapped his bare chest where an elaborate tattoo discoloured his skin. Caius could not discern what it was supposed to be. In the firelight it looked like an angry deformed chicken. “Checking papers, giving the eyeball. Been looking at me funny since we got in.”

The bottle circulated as the group discussed possible causes for the tension among the NCR ranks. The guesses became wilder and wilder as the hooch diminished. Given its potency, the legionary was glad it was dark enough no one noticed him only pretending to drink. He wanted his wits about him.

The merchants were inebriated, in Caius's estimation, but they still noticed when a figure approached. He strode to the fireside and backsides shuffled to allow him to join the circle beside Consanguine. Ann revealed the identity of the man by launching herself into his arms with a cry of 'dad!'.

Pater Dunn looked tired. The firelight elongated the shadows under his eyes and hollowed his cheeks. Caius studied him while calculating how best to present himself. Had the seniority been reversed, the legionary would have demanded a thorough report from the random scavenger who had journeyed with his daughter. And might have beaten him regardless just to instil caution.

Ann told her father what had occurred since they had parted ways, a span of weeks longer than Caius had expected. She gave a reasonable report having cried and anaesthetised herself into equanimity. Yet all the trader did was give him the same sort of granite look his wife had. No challenge, no denunciation, no threat.

“Sir.” Caius said, meeting Dunn's look. He was uncertain if he was insulted. Did they think him so young or so emasculated that he could not sully their daughter? Did they not care? They clearly both loved Ann so why no concern over the company she kept? A mother might have restrained herself but it was a father's duty to defend his household.

“I've got four passes clear to Freeside. You can kip with us, boyo. We're not squatting here waiting for the backlog to clear.” Durable spoke low and fast, his hackles well up from dealing with the Outpost's commanding officer. “I want back on tar soon as sense lets. No asking. I'll tell what I saw when we're out of bullet range.”

The demonstration of paterfamilias quelled all argument, even from the drunken fellow merchants. Caius was reassured by it and by the sleeping arrangements that put him on a bedroll on the other side of mater Dunn with Ann in between her parents. That at least was a sensible way of doing things. Even if it left the chicken tattoo man on for the first watch.

The legionary lay awake listening to the nocturnal cacophony of a disordered encampment. People milled around, low voices coming from all directions. Many made the circuit to the latrine pit further up the slope. No one seemed to challenge movement in that direction, unlike the firm rebuff from the NCR guards to anyone attempting to enter the security cordon.

Caius got up when the noise of his own fireside had diminished to snores. The big trader barely nodded when he indicated his intended goal. Picking his way slowly over to the impromptu tent that concealed the cesspool, he waiting his turn patiently. With an unrivalled view of the Mojave Outpost, illumined by the floodlights on the statues. He could even count the snipers.


	10. Clarity

Ann woke to her mother grumbling about her back, which was pretty standard on cold days. As soon as the sun rose, the air would cook but now in the blue light of morning, she could see her breath fog. Temperance had learned many things in her years on the road. One of those things was on frosty mornings there was always a rush for the latrine when bladders triumphed over blankets. So as tempting as it was to lie in, Ann got up and headed up the hill before the stampede.

Coming out of the draughty necessary, she noticed a cluster of NCR soldiers outside the fence talking among themselves then separating to search among the sleeping bundles. They seemed worried. Ann wondered if they were looking for the man now dead at the gas station. She wondered but she emphatically did not ask. Another thing the road had taught her was no one appreciated bad news. 

And people with guns were inclined to demonstrate their lack of appreciation.

It did not make her feel worthy, though. She would have preferred to report what Will had found. On principle. But the NCR had a poor record in expressing gratitude, and there was something else. Her dad had mentioned it or rather refused to mention it. Ann was fair sure she could see it though. The soldiers were on edge. They moved staccato and glared when they noticed her watching.

She headed back to the campfire before she was challenged. There must have been something in her expression because her dad simply tossed her a pack. Her mother was already gathering their provisions. They weren't the only ones. Griffin and Dave were rolling and stowing readying to head out. Cassidy was snoring with her hat over her face, sleeping off a lavish portion of cactus juice. When Will made to shake her, Ann shook her head.

“She's a virago if you wake her. Could tan leather with her tongue.” The trader smiled, envying the older woman her constitution if not her moderation. “She'll catch up if she wants once the fumes have evaporated.”

“What was that drink?” Caius kept his face non-committal though he had been tempted to kick the sottish woman to rouse her from her stupor. His question prompted a soft laugh from Ann, which made her look rather attractive and irritated him when he realised he was smiling too.

“Bathtub Tequila, guaranteed to clean engines and light lanterns. Burns with a pretty cyan light.” She gave him a playful nudge when he looked like a sermon and was surprised when he held her wrist firmly. Ann glanced down at his sun-browned hand on her arm, noticing callouses on the inside of his first finger and thumb. A rude thought inflated in her head but she popped it. That hard skin was not from jerking off.

Ann put a hand on his to gently detach herself. Will let her go easy enough, maybe even surprised himself. She turned his hand over and tickled his palm teasingly. But she was thinking if he was a farmhand, he'd have rough skin across all his fingers. And gunslingers had a raised ridge on their second finger where it rubbed against the trigger guard. So. Yeah. She was getting a bit more of that worried telepathy from her dad.

“What was that?” Caius demanded. If this was some Profligate recognition gesture or trail signal, he did not know it. Was he supposed to touch her in return? He had restrained her instinctively when she had pushed him then belatedly realised she was not attacking him. He felt a fool. Causing discord now within sight of an NCR fort could get him killed. A just punishment for idiocy.

“That.” Ann said on a long drawl and a wide grin. “Was me flirting.” She shrugged it off. “Guess I wasn't doing it right if you didn't notice.” Tipping her hat at him, she went to help Griffin strap a pack saddle on a reluctant brahmin. If she lent a hand to him, he'd lend a hand to her and they'd all get their feet going faster. And faster was good.

No one relaxed until they were on the bend after Nipton. Looking back they had seen NCR troops stop several caravans but their early start had put them ahead of any patrols. They meant to stay well in front of trouble so lunch was taken on the hoof.

Caius walked towards the rear of the group, as Ann had elected to keep pace with her parents. They talked quietly and looked worried but did not look towards him so the legionary left them to their conversation. His thoughts were on what he had seen at the Outpost and on how to get a message to the Legion.

He had not seen any of the secret markers scouts left to mark their passing. His contubernium had been on the bleeding edge of the patrol area, out of reach of any hidden supply caches or message drops. Caius knew what he must do but not how to do it.

An obscenity from the man with the tattoo caught his attention. The caravan had stopped, paused by something Pater Dunn had said. Stepping forward, Caius caught the next round of blasphemies as well as their cause.

“I am sure, Griffin. It was that damn Major with the whip-crack tongue.” Durable made good on his promise to explain now they were well away. “I heard her talking to a couple officers. A hush-up about a Great Khan camp. Max casualties. Non-combatants. No prisoners. FUBAR. All that military jargon.” His gaze roamed the small group, seeing the same worry he wore. “I'm thinking something very bloody happened. Some of the sharpshooters looked shattered.”

“If'n its regular folk, then it'll be Bitter Springs.” Fresno Dave spoke in a low, steady voice that everyone but Caius recognised as a good time to be somewhere else. They gave him his space. He didn't notice; just stood there chewing his lip.

“That is far north of here, would...” Caius asked before Durable pulled him away from Dave and shushed him firmly.

“Bite it, son. Not the time.” The merchant twitched his hand at his daughter. Ann knew the signal. She took Will and her brahmin further down the road to act as point. While her parents and Griffin stood around casually, very casually, waiting to see if Dave lost his temper.

“His tribe were cannibals.” Ann spoke quietly as they waited in the scrubby shade of a large yucca. “He got exiled because he didn't join in on the feasts. But he's got some of the hunger in him.”

“Is he mad?” Caius was becoming quite certain that all Degenerates were insane. Ann stood there speaking of the unclean as if it were idle gossip. When she shrugged, he wanted to shake her.

“Nope. Got a long fuse on him. But when it goes, damn but he goes boom.” It was always personal with Fresno Dave, and he had never attacked his friends. “He's a nice guy otherwise.”

“Otherwise.” The word got out past his clenched teeth.

“Yeah, otherwise.” Ann straightened, pulling down her bandanna so Will could better read her facial expressions as he was sure not getting her tone of voice. “You remember how I said no one would trade with us after the NCR took over? Well, Dave would trade. He knew what it was like to be a pariah.”

“His people eat people.” Caius bit off each word, attempting to convey to the woman how significant the taboo was. Consuming the flesh of other men was an abomination against the gods. It made men into beasts, both consumed and consumer.

“Well, shit.” She was astounded by his moral stance. “Your people crucify people.”


	11. Small Talk

His first burning instinct was to kill her. If he had his machete, she would be dead. Caius felt his hand twitch at his side where the handle of his weapon would be. But it was not there. He wore a firearm on his other hip. The recollection came to him at the same time he realised she was smiling.

“You were not certain.” The legionary felt foolish now. If he fired the gun, the other traders would hear. They would kill him. Possibly they would consume him if what she had said about the cannibal was true.

“Nope.” Ann raised and lowered her shoulders in a slow shrug, keeping her body language neutral. “My folks and I noticed a few things. Not all together, you know? We compared notes.” She looked him over. “Funny enough it was mom who was the most sure. 'Cause you didn't look at my tits.”

“What?” Caius caught himself glancing at her shirt-front then lifting his gaze in puzzlement. What did her breasts mean? He knew she had them. They were... useful for a woman to have.

“When we were drinking 'round the fire. I was laughing and jiggling. You were sitting right next to me, and you're what twenty? You didn't look.” To illustrate, Ann grabbed her boobs and bounced on her toes. He looked away. She chuckled. “And you're not into guys. So, why didn't you look?”

“Your father.” He answered unwillingly. He was interested, though. The reasoning was curious. Caius could not dispute it, not least because he had not been clever enough to see her bluff.

“That's what mom said. You got all tense when dad showed up, like you were expecting to be called out. Tribals do that sometimes, sure. But you aren't tribal.” Her airy confidence made him glare. “We know all the peoples for weeks in any direction.”

“You could have surrendered me to the NCR. There is a bounty.” Caius did not know how to react now. She was not trying to extort him. She was not afraid. He hesitated in becoming violent, unsure why he did not wish to harm her.

“Fuck 'em.” Ann said succinctly.

“That is all?” He took a step closer to her, wanting to see the expression in her eyes. That need seemed to transmit as she removed her sunglasses. Blinking, her gaze was guileless. “A casual obscenity and a shrug?”

“You could kiss me and ask me to remember I owe you for Hank.” She grinned, a little less sure of herself this time.

Her inane suggestion made him angry. Caius grabbed her shoulders, ready to shake some sense into her as she so badly needed. He felt her arm shift, a little movement. He felt the point of the knife press into his belly. Not hard just resolute. The merry light in her eyes turned to steel.

“That's not how this ends, Will.” Ann did not try to shake him off. He could grab her all he liked. Hell, some recreational grabbing could be fun. But he did not get to bully. “Walk away if you want. No one'll stop you. But we're heading east for a bit more so you might as well tag along.”

“This is not right.” The legionary protested, his hands tightening on her. This was not how he had been prepared to face his failure and discovery. He had anticipated a denouncement, a fight or perhaps a stealthy betrayal leading to him regaining consciousness in prison.

“You really need to meet more people.” She advised amusedly. This was rather funny. The look on his face. He really did not know how to deal with honesty. “Look, Will, it's quite simple. We don't say anything, you don't murder us in our sleep. We all go to New Vegas. Easy.”

“I must report to the Legion.” Caius released her and the knife went away as though it had never been. He followed her hand, noting now the scabbard at the small of her back.

“That's easy. The man at the next homestead is salad.” Ann used the slang, saw his non-comprehension and explained. “Caesar salad. It's an old recipe with toasted bread cubes and eggs. Cheese too. We used to have it on holidays.”

“Are you insane?” He felt obliged to ask, if only for confirmation of what he suspected. And he was standing too close to her. And she had put inappropriate thoughts in his head. Kissing her. Mars, he could hate her.

“'Fraid not. If it makes you feel any better, a lot of people ask me that. It's a bunker thing, I think. We try not to take life too seriously.” As a coping strategy, it was cheaper than booze. “It'll cut things out of you if you don't.”

“Your father sent you here, to stand watch with a man he knew was true to Caesar. Was that a test?” Caius pushed his awareness of her body to the bestial recesses of his mind. He had a duty.

“Probably. Dad thinks too much.” She put her sunglasses back on when he got all straight-back. He was wound pretty tight so she stopped teasing him. “He's likely hoping that quid pro quo, we show you we don't snitch and you put a good word in for our caravans.”

“Is he offering you to me?” This time he let himself ogle her. She was suitable. Caius was irritated that he kept noticing how suitable she was. She could cook too. But he was only a foot soldier. If she went with him to the Legion, some officer would claim her by right.

“What we have here is some cultural dissonance.” Ann crossed her arms. “My dad does not own me. I'm an adult. I'll ask his advice, sure, and mom's. But I'm the one doing the offering if there's any offering being done.”

“Profligate.” He shook his head at her naivety.

“I never am.” She retorted, patting the restive brahmin as it pawed at the ground in a vain attempt to graze. “So, you up for it?”

“I will go with you to the homesteader of which you spoke.” That seemed a reasonable compromise. He gained nothing by striking off alone when the group were travelling in the right direction. “I will speak with him. If he is as you say he is, then I will be able to fulfil my duty.”

“Damn but you sound real dull when you talk like that.” Ann sighed. It wasn't easy making friends when you were never in one place for long. She had taken a liking to Will, who wasn't a Will at all, and now he was fixing to wander off.

“I am true to Caesar.” Caius said quietly. All she did was nod, as though he was stating his preference for dinner. He did not understand her. But he wanted to, and that felt like treason.


	12. Odyssey

When her mother returned without her father, Griffin, and Dave, Ann swore. It was not a big swear just a comment. She knew what the absence meant. They had gone hunting. Consanguine gave her a little nod as she lead the brahmin past them. Ann fell into step with her mother leaving Will to do as he liked.

What he liked was to walk with them glaring at rocks like he expected them to whelp Deathclaws. Neither of the women remarked on it. Only idiots mocked caution.

“You're marching, son.” Consanguine spoke to the baked dry air, her eyes on the road. “Walk with your hips, not your knees. Get to my age and you'll thank me for it.”

Caius stopped then self-consciously began to mimic the matron. He felt unmanly and the stride was not natural to him but after a while he could feel how the leagues might pass more easily. The women did not mock him though they seemed to find something humorous.

The road took another bend and split in the way it did at intersections. The legionary tried to imagine so much traffic that a route would need to be divided to accommodate it. He could not. There were not so many people in the world.

“Wolfhorn Ranch.” Ann did not point. Pointing was a gesture that was clear for quite a distance and obvious under binoculars. Someone watching them would know exactly where they were going. So she just rolled her head in the vague direction of the homestead. “We know Ulysses so we can amble up without him or Pen shooting us.”

“Pen?” Caius did not know whether the reference was to one of their bookish names, a surname or if he had misheard. The wind was picking up. It chittered over the sand bringing the scent of dung and smoke.

“Ulysses's wife. She doesn't talk much. Never said her name. So we call her Penelope.” Ann explained then paused expectantly.

“After the faithful woman who undid her own weaving.” The legionary had heard the legend from a vexillarius who had emphasised more Ulysses slaughtering his wife's suitors. Bloodshed had carried the audience better than textiles.

“Yep.” The trader's girl grinned at her mother, who rolled her eyes. Neither of them could see the other's expression behind bandanna and sunglasses but they knew. Consanguine gave her daughter a nod then headed up the rise towards the ranch.

Caius had noticed the by-play. Had Mater Dunn objected to him meeting this Ulysses? He could not tell and that irritated him. The Dissolute had so many strange ways. How the Frumentarii could wade through the cess successfully he did not know. Then Ann did a very odd thing.

She reached out and took his hand, curling her fingers in his. The hold was only momentary before a squeeze then release. She clicked her tongue to the brahmin, leading it from the road to follow her mother.

“Ann.” Caius called quietly after her, thinking himself callow for doing so but unwilling to let her leave without saying something. She turned with a hand raised to catch her broad hat as the brim fluttered.

“We'll talk after you do your thing.” She thought she should shrug like it was no burden but suddenly this pack was a little heavier than she wanted it to be.

Ann was grateful, really she was, when Will just stared at her then left. She trailed him to the ranch house, rusty and bleached drab like every other place in the Mojave. The bunker had been cool gray with black metal and gold in places where the lights gilded the pale walls. She missed it.

Penelope made them pottage while the men went for a walk. Consanguine offered some of their beans and peppers for the pot, slicing the latter when their hostess's hand shook. Ann did not comment on the segregation just like she did not comment on how much thinner the rancher's wife had got since their last visit. They did not need to be told.

The three woman had finished their meal by the time the legionaries returned. Ann had an urge to make a joke about serving a salad course but the expression on Ulysses's weathered face stalled her.

A whole lot of nothing was said. Penelope fetched her husband and the boy a bowl then sat quietly. Consanguine stared out the window recalling a quote from James Joyce; 'history is a nightmare from which I am trying to wake'. The trader made an excuse about watering the brahmin and went outside.

“I would like to talk now.” Caius spoke to Ann formally. He had told the Frumentarius everything. Confessed everything too, and had been granted permission of sorts. She went with him to the lookout where they could have some privacy.

“I know you're leaving.” Ann spoke more to the tin roof than to Will but this time she did manage a shrug. His reply was a burning kiss, pushing her back against the sandbags as he tried to claim her with his mouth.

“It is my duty.” Caius spoke when he had to break the kiss to breathe. Her pavement coloured eyes met his with a look as flat as their namesake. He was shaking with need and the aftermath of giving his report. “I must leave before nightfall.”

“Then why are you still wearing pants?” She shrugged off her long coat and pulled off her shirt. Will stared at her bared breasts as though he did not know what to do with them. Ann gave him a clue by circling her fingertips around her nipples.

Yep, that did it. He was in his skin and nothing else lickety-split. She was not far behind him. They went down onto the floor out of sight to explore with hands and lips. He was hurried, uncertain. She was not.

Ann pushed Will onto his back, swinging a leg over his hip but not mounting up. She wanted him. She would have him. Not a lot more need be said, except for one significant thing.

“What's your name, really?” Rubbing her heat against his was an unorthodox interrogation technique. Not exactly fair either seeing how hard he was. But she wanted to know.

“Caius.” The legionary groaned, his fingers digging into her hips. He wanted to throw her to the ground and take her, show her a woman's place. Where she should be. But he could not bear not to see her grin when she slid down onto him. He did not want her to be his slave.

“Pleased to meet you, Caius.” Ann wriggled to get comfortable then wriggled some more 'cause he felt damn good. He grabbed her braid, pulling her breasts into range of his mouth. After that, there was no more talking.


	13. These Boots

He left.

Ann watched him go, sending him off with a grin and a kiss then a wave when he turned to look at her. She didn't ask him to stay because she knew he wouldn't. Maybe she would see him again but 'maybe' was a lying sort of word she didn't like.

After making sure she had all her clothes on right way 'round, Ann went back to the house and helped with the washing up. Pen was breathing hard, bright points of red on her cheeks that had nothing to do with rouge. Consanguine made her some herb tea to take the edge off the pain.

“You will feast me?” Pen wheezed, looking towards the door Ulysses had walked out to watch for the traders' approach. And possibly to check that Caius was truly heading east, as he was a suspicious bastard.

“We will.” Consanguine promised. “If he puts you to rest near the flagpole, we can check that easy enough any time we pass. Your man doesn't even need to be here.”

“He won't be.” She didn't say anything else and neither woman asked. Curiosity was a poison. Too much all at once could kill you. Whatever Ulysses did, it was far, far better they did not know.

“There's a whole lot of leaving going on.” Ann grumbled, scraping dishes into a slop bucket. The older women looked at her and she nodded. “I know, I know. Look to the road ahead.”

“Maybe he left you a souvenir.” Consanguine tried not to smile at her daughter's sulk. Temperance would jolly herself out of her mood easily enough, she had never been a difficult child, but seeing her pout made the trader wistful. She had been so cute in pigtails, back when they had been safe.

“Could be. It's the right time for it and he was good.” She went a little pink, sharing a feminine mystery with her mother and Pen. They did not tease her. More than anything to have babies in the Wasteland, you had to be lucky. Not many people were.

“Your father?” Pen asked, softly. She would have been beaten if she had done what the girl had done at her age. Her father would have had the legionary whipped for his hubris and likely exposed the baby to prove his auctoritas.

“Oh, dad'll be fine. With For gone, it's down to me to try for kids.” Ann reassured. There might be some paternal grumbling when she got too big to keep up 'cause it'd cost for her to stay somewhere, but otherwise Durable would be happy. “It'd be better if Will had stuck around so we aren't short-handed, if it happens. But waiting for him, well.” She finished on a shrug.

“Remember what your gran said about waiting.” Consanguine cautioned, not saying aloud that the maybe-dad of her maybe-grandkid would very probably die in the desert before his child could walk. The Legion really only had one retirement plan.

“Waiting's easy, living's hard.” They would head on to New Vegas, try to push west then probably backtrack all the way to the Long 15. Depending on how bad was the fighting between the NCR and everyone who looked at the Bear funny, they might leave the Mojave. “And war never changes.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am using the Australian (British) spelling conventions. I have nothing against the letter 'z' personally.


End file.
